My
by dogstar-ebony
Summary: The secret confessions of some of the HP characters...a "10 Things You Didn't Know" style fic with a slight difference. Different revelations with each chapter.
1. MyConfession

_**This is a random oneshot that came to me – I've wanted to write a "10 Things You Didn't Know About X" style fic for a while but I've read a few good ones and I feel like I'd be plagiarising. So this is my way around that. I'm thinking of making this a chaptered story, maybe adding new characters, but with each chapter being themed. For example, this one is 'My Confession', but the next might be "My Favourite Memory" or "My Most Embarrassing Moment", or something. **_

* * *

_**My Confession**_

**Ron**

Percy always used to be my favourite brother.

Until, of course, he turned his back on the family, and on Harry. It's hard to admire someone when they're standing so violently against absolutely everything you're fighting for. Most people assume my favourite brother would have Charlie, because we got on so well when we were younger, and because of how laid-back he is. I can see why they'd think that, but they're wrong.

It's not because I liked Percy the most. That's not it at all. He was just as annoying and self-righteous and _moral_ when we were children as he was when we got older. He's still the same way even now. He won't ever change. But that's the point. Right from the start, he wouldn't change, not for anybody. No matter how many snails Fred and George put in his soup; no matter how many times Bill begged him to stop writing his endless essays and just come and play Quidditch with the rest of us; no matter how many times we hid his Prefect badge just for the fun of watching him stress about it, he remained the same old Percy. He didn't care that we thought he was strange, or prissy, or a goody-goody. He was just Percy. So it wasn't that I _liked_ him the most. It was more...admiration. I wanted to be like that – to not care if Fred and George laughed at me for doing something, even if they didn't mean it viciously. I wanted to care about something enough to not care what it meant to follow it, even if it meant sacrificing my entire life for it, even if it _was_ something as mindless as rules and laws.

It took me until I was fourteen to find that something, but now that I have her, I can remember a little of why I admired him so much. Thanks to Hermione, a small part of me will always like Percy the best.

**Hermione**

I didn't really like Crookshanks all that much, not at first.

It took a couple of months before I started to warm to him. That sounds terrible but it's true. He was ugly and haughty and bandy-legged, and I didn't feel particularly attached to him, initially. When I went into the shop to buy a pet, I was thinking of the beautiful tabby cat I could see in the very back; the one that was stretching carefully, the one with the single white paw and the scissor-flash of black dotted amongst the fur around her face.

But then Crookshanks announced his arrival, and I bought him. It was partly because Ron seemed to really hate him, and partly because it would serve him right to be the one being endlessly annoyed for once. But mostly it was because I saw a little more of myself in my cat than I cared to admit to at times. It's why I defended him so bloody-mindedly against every one of Ron's (admittedly justified) accusations.

And then by the time it all started to backfire on me I liked Crookshanks too much to admit Ron had been, at least partially, right all along.

**Harry **

I never kissed Cho.

Not really; not technically. I just sort of stood there, stunned, while she moved her mouth against mine, not moving or responding in any way. Does that count as a kiss, technically, if I wasn't an active participant? Is it still a kiss if I only pushed my lips out a little? I wasn't expecting it, at all. I was completely shocked. I thought she was going to hug me – that's why I leaned forward. I didn't realise she wanted to kiss me until it was too late and it was already happening. And by that point I was so overcome with surprise that I couldn't make my brain work fast enough, to respond properly. I couldn't understand what was wrong with me – I _wanted_ to kiss her. I'd dreamed of kissing her for weeks. I couldn't understand why it suddenly seemed so hard when my fantasies had made it look like the most natural thing in the world. When it was over I smiled at her. I thought it might make up for my uselessness. I thought that's what she needed. I thought it would cheer her up, because I could see the sadness tugging at her mouth even as she smiled at me. So I returned her awkward grin.

And watched her dissolve into tears, once again.

**  
Sirius **

I didn't actually run away from home, at least not the way I told Harry I did.

By the time the big showdown with my mother came, I had already been basically living with James for a month, so that when I tried to grab my things and go, all that was left to take were my trainers and a photo of myself and James taken last summer. She didn't really even need to order me from the house – I'd been planning my eventual exit for weeks by that point, knowing it would come soon. No one came to look for me. I never even got an owl, demanding I pick up any belongings left behind.

Does it count as running away if the people you're running from wave you off as you go? Is it still running away if no one notices you're gone? Or is it just disappearing?

**Ginny**

I went through a period of time where I tried to hate Harry.

I say "tried" because that's all it ever amounted to. I was awful at it. I knew from experience that I was awful at it, so I should have given up before I started. I'd tried it in my first year, when my infatuation with him was making me miserable because it was utterly unrequited, and I'd failed spectacularly. So I don't know why, with this evidence to prove otherwise, I thought that trying again would make any difference.

It was while he was on the run with Ron and Hermione. I wanted to hate him for going, for leaving me behind, and I couldn't, anymore than I could hate him for breaking up with me before he went. How can you hate someone for doing something so moral? So I tried another tactic. I did hatred exercises. Every morning when I woke up, I thought of something I didn't like about him; some physical flaw, or something he'd done in the past to annoy me, so that being apart from him didn't hurt so much, so that not knowing where he was or if he was okay didn't rip me apart. I focused on that flaw all day, blowing it out of proportion so that it seemed to be his only attribute. I hated him for the fact I didn't know if he still had ten fingers anymore, for example, and for the fact that his left eye is the tiniest bit wider than his right eye.

I lasted about eight days before I realised I was just making up flaws so that I'd have something to hate him for.

**Luna**

I don't remember my mother dying.

At least, I don't remember as much as I let my father think I do. I saw it – I know that because if I hadn't seen it then why else would I have been able to see Thestrals? But I don't remember the spell she was trying to customise, for example. I told Daddy it was a Hiccoughing Charm but for all I know it could have been a spell to make frogs fly from her nose. I don't remember what she was wearing, or the way the room smelled, or what time of day it was, the way he thinks I do. I fed him whatever details he asked for, because when I did I could see the wrinkles on his forehead smooth a little bit. It comforted him to know all the details – I think it makes him feel better for not being there with her, with me.

I remember two things about that day. I remember the last expression on her face, a mixture of triumph and surprise frozen there. And I remember hearing a high pitched scream, repeated over and over, like someone in the worst pain of their life and with no escape in sight for them.

**  
Regulus **

I found Sirius again, the night my dear older brother ran away.

I don't think he ever knew that. As soon as my mother paused for breath in her vitriolic defilement of his very name, I sneaked out of the house and I followed him to his friend's house. I stood outside the window, listening to them speak with magic. I was going to burst in to the room. I was going to make Sirius see that was he was doing was foolish, and show him that he'd be forgiven if he apologised. And if that didn't work, I was going to beg Sirius to come home.

Then I heard Sirius say he didn't care if his whole family dropped dead, every last one of them, and something inside me broke, because I knew I was included in that. I went home, alone. I never came back, and I never told my mother where Sirius was.

Not that she ever asked.

**  
Neville **

I remember my mother smiling.

Not the vacant empty smile she presses to her face whenever I visit her, and not the feral grin of fear that crosses her features when she doesn't know where she is or what is happening, but a true, clear smile. A bright one, the colour of happiness itself. I remember her stroking my hair and smiling. It's my earliest memory, although Gran doesn't know it. I remember a lot more than she thinks I do, but sometimes I think it would be easier to remember nothing, because then I can't miss what I could have had.

If I have no memories, I haven't lost anything.

**George **

At first, a tiny part of me _liked_ only having one ear. I liked it because, even though I loved being a twin and I loved having someone who was always there for me, having only one ear singled me out and gave me something that was only mine, something that Fred could never share, something that showed I was a _person_ as well as a _twin_. So, at first, I liked it.

Now that I don't need anything to show I'm not Fred, I'm not so sure I like it anymore.


	2. MyFavourite Memory

_**My … Favourite Memory**_

**Ron**

Getting attacked by those birds.

That's a really stupid memory to like the best, but I can't help it. Every time I think of it, it makes me smile like the idiot I am. Obviously, it's not exactly _fun_ being pecked half to death by some enchanted flying _demons_, and it's especially not fun to have it done by the very last person I wanted to make angry enough to do it. So maybe it's wrong to say that it's my favourite memory because of _what_ happened: maybe I should say that I like it the best simply _because_ it happened.

To be perfectly honest, I like it the best because it proved to me that Hermione cared. It didn't matter that she'd barely spoken to me since I'd started going out with Lavender: it didn't matter that she hadn't told me to my face that she didn't like it: and it didn't matter that she hadn't burst in, pulled Lavender away mid-kiss and taken her place, which was what I was foolish enough to keep hoping for every single time I kissed Lavender. Every time I look at the faint scars on my arms it makes me smile, because I remember a tiny part of me being happy, because she'd finally shown me that my ridiculous plan had worked: she _was_ jealous. I wasn't putting up with Lavender for nothing, after all – Hermione _cared_. She cared deeply enough about my 'relationship', if you can call it that, that it caused her rage greater than I'd ever managed to make her show in the six years leading up to that moment.

She'd never attacked me before, not physically. So I knew that I must have made her _really_ jealous. And, stupid as it was, that made me smile while the vicious little gits were pecking chunks out of my arms.

~ * ~

**Hermione**

The very first time I met Ron.

It's not my favourite memory because it was a particularly beautiful moment, or because it was poignant or special. And it's not my favourite because of some latent love-at-first-sight I hadn't recognised in myself at the time, being only eleven, or because it was the day that he entered my life. It's not nearly as romantic as all that. How could it be? He was stubborn and he was annoying and he had a dirty nose. That's hardly the kind of thing the heroes of romance novels do. He wouldn't listen to me, even though I clearly knew what was best, because he was determined that he knew how to fix things. He challenged me from the very first second. And he hasn't changed one bit over the years.

That's why it's my favourite memory. Because even though maturity means that he can be sweet and he can be kind, and funny, and thoughtful, every so often he can be an obstinate, irritating little worm, too. It's in his nature: he can't help it anymore than I can help needing to follow the rules. And if I can still remember him the way he was when he had a dirty nose to go with it, then it lends me a little patience until his better side emerges once again.

**~ * ~ **

**  
Sirius **

Watching Lily and James get married.

They hadn't had time to organise a real wedding. Not with things the way they were. For a start, the only guests apart from myself were Remus, Peter, one of Lily's friends whose name I'm ashamed to say I still can't recall, and Lily's sister, biting her lip the whole time and with small dark eyes that constantly darted to the door, eyeing up her escape route whenever she wasn't sweeping a suspicious gaze over us all as if expecting us to turn her into a frog at any moment.

Lily looked beautiful, as always. Her hair was swept over her bare shoulders, flaming against the simple white of her dress. James wasn't dressed up properly- he had his black dress robes on, the formal ones, but nothing like the tuxedo Lily had liked to imagine when they'd first talked of marrying.

It's my favourite memory for several reasons. Firstly, because it was gorgeous just to have something to be happy about, to smile for, to stop worrying and plotting and fighting for five whole seconds. Nothing had really kicked off then, not yet, but you could smell it in the air. Secondly, because I could literally taste James' happiness on my tongue, seeping to the back of my throat, so that I couldn't help but smile along with the two of them, the best friend I had ever had and the incredible girl he had found. It's hard not to prefer memories of such joy to anything else I have.

Mostly, though, it's my favourite memory because that day I smiled constantly out of gratitude to them both, because I knew somehow that this was the closest I'd ever get to standing up in a suit while vows of love were exchanged, and right then it seemed more than enough.

~ * ~

**Ginny**

The first time I stole a broomstick from the shed in the garden.

I remember lifting the latch on the kitchen door and pressing myself against the wall so that no one would see me. I had to be very quiet, so no one would hear; I had to push my palms against my mouth to catch the excitable giggles that kept leaking from it at the thought of what I was going to do.

The lock was surprisingly easy to break. I smashed the rock I'd squirrelled away for precisely this purpose with as much force as I could muster against the twisted metal of the lock; it slid apart with a faint whine of resistance and clattered to the floor. The brooms rested against the wooden walls, unrestrained due to the flimsy lock on the door, waiting for me. I had no preference, but I picked out Ron's specially, knowing it would annoy him the most: he was little more than a year older than me but _he_ was allowed to play with the others, so why shouldn't I?

I wasn't outside for long. It was years ago, and I was small, but I remember most clearly the crisp feeling of the wind rushing past my face as I flew, moulding itself around my flesh and raking coolly across my exposed skin. I remember thinking that I always wanted to wear my hair long, because there was nothing else in the world that felt as good as when the air blew through it, flipping it up and out. Most of all, I remember my laughter trailing behind me as I weaved carelessly through the trees in the orchard behind our garden, proud of myself because I had a secret and imagining the look of surprise on my family's faces when they realised I wasn't just little Ginny anymore.

~ * ~

**Luna**

The first time I saw the Thestrals .

That was when I really started believing in the things Daddy had also promised me he could see; the creatures he swore were just hiding around corners because I wasn't looking quickly enough to find them; creatures able to fold themselves up small enough that they could hide inside a breath of wind or a raindrop, so that only the keenest of eyes could find them.

That's not why it's my favourite memory, though. It's my favourite memory because it's the first I have that made me very aware that I wasn't like the others. I believed in things they scoffed at. I dressed differently. I wore my hair differently. I wouldn't, and couldn't, be like any of the other girls, and when I realised I was the only person who could see the sleek black creatures who pulled our coaches, it made me proud. I knew that even if the others could see them, they wouldn't see the beauty I saw: they'd be repulsed. If being able to see further than other people is the price of being different, then I'm glad to be different. It makes me feel that, if I can believe and see something that others can't, then there's hope for everything yet: after all, who's to say that there _isn't_ such a thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack? Maybe my eyes just aren't sharp enough to see one yet. Maybe that's why I didn't see one that entire summer we spent in Sweden, though Daddy swears he saw five or six.

~ * ~

**  
Neville **

Bouncing down the road when Uncle Algie dropped me out of the window.

It's not because it was the thing that proved I really was magical after all, though of course that was the whole point of it. And it's certainly not because he dropped me. I remember keeping my mouth tightly closed while I dangled. I did that for two reasons: firstly, because I knew if I didn't for even a second, then I would be violently sick. The ground was a long way down from where I was standing...or hanging. And, secondly, because once the sickness had passed it would be replaced by the longest, loudest scream I had ever let loose in my life, because there was every chance that I _wasn't_ magical and that when I fell it would hurt, very much. And Uncle Algie's grip wasn't very firm.

I did scream when he let me fall. I couldn't help it: I didn't have a choice in the matter. I closed my eyes and waited for the pain, but it didn't come. I kept them closed tightly as I bounced, twice, three times, and it was only when I came to a halt in the middle of the road that I trusted myself to open them again.

I lay flat out, my arms spread wide, staring up at the sky and just grinning to myself, because I could hear my family's delighted cries. And it felt amazing to feel accepted: to feel like I wasn't going to be on the outside looking in anymore. For once, I was one of the group.

~ * ~

* * *

There are some slightly different characters in this chapter: this is partly because I wanted to include some new ones and partly because I couldn't think of good enough ones for the characters I dropped. Harry, for example – all of his best memories are explicitly shown in canon.

One reviewer told me that I write Luna too seriously: I have tried, but I really am unable to write her as anything other than serious...well, not so much 'serious' as....deep-thinking, I suppose. I think it's because I find her story very sad, and my theories on her character are explored more clearly in my oneshot, "Lifting The Veil" - part of me feels that she is often little more than comic relief in the canon. I don't know, maybe I'm just making excuses now, but that's why I write her a little more seriously here.

If anyone has any suggestions of themes, or characters to do, please feel free to let me know.


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